Cream and Sugar

“Anything in your coffee?”

“One of each, please.”

I stare undecidedly at my hands -a packet of Splenda in the left and a cup of creamer in the right- carefully weighing my numberless options as I let my coffee cool on top of the fold-down airplane table.

Questions race through my head as I try to determine the appropriate sugar-to-coffee-to-creamer ratio to avoid multiple taste tests.

Do I use the entire packet of sugar? 

Will the creamer be enough for this size cup of coffee?

Do I even want any sugar?

Are there other creamer flavors…?

I get overwhelmed and pour in the entire thimble-sized creamer and guesstimate half the packet of sugar. 

Done. 

It’s mediocre at best, and quite bland to be honest. But I question if this is my failure to concoct the perfect cup, or the airline’s supply of sub-par coffee. 

After nearly six months following this instance, filled with mornings of experimenting and many sips of coffee later, I’ve found two things.

One, I like my coffee more on the bitter side, often relying on espresso and steamed milk for a simple latte (If I feel daring, I switch to soy to add some sweetness to my sip).

Secondly, at the age of 22, I realize I won’t fully feel like an adult until I know how to make my own cup of coffee without fault. 

It’s like grocery shopping - one of the hardest tasks to do perfectly. 

At 19, I was in my first year at Chapman and living out of the house and with a roommate for the first time. The frozen food my family stocked for the two of us was running low, so it was time to go grocery shopping to refuel. I remembered how my mom would come home with brown bags full of fruit and vegetables, packets of brown rice and ready-to-make meals; raw chicken and salmon, cartons of almond milk and the occasional bag of chips or popcorn. Grocery shopping was going to be a breeze.

Wrong.

I stepped inside Ralph’s and was immediately swamped with anxiety, stuck in the flower section next to seasonal goods wondering where the heck to start my journey. I’m a right-handed gal, so I followed my instinct and turned right, starting with produce and working my way counter-clockwise towards the deli section.

An HOUR later, I had strawberries and apples, hummus and carrot sticks, string cheese and Jennie-O turkey meat; popcorn, a small jar of almond butter, and those cheap sleeves of chocolate and vanilla cookies. In my eyes, my basket was filled to the brim and well beyond my $30 a week limit for groceries. 

I got home, unloaded the goods and proudly surveyed my treasure only to be grief-stricken almost immediately after. I looked at the lot and realized I had enough to last me through the first half of the week and to satisfy my midnight snack cravings.

I didn’t know how to meal prep yet or how to plot out the number of times I realistically needed to eat during the week. Granted, I became very creative with what I had, mixing frozen remnants, baking supplies and fresh food to concoct a (somewhat) edible meal. (frozen corn and shrimp street tacos with hot sauce were at one point my go-to meal). 

Alas, I had failed one of my first real adult tasks. And felt super lame (and broke).

In my last semester of college, I can say I still grocery shop when I’m hungry and still sip at my coffee until I’m satisfied with my results. And you know what, I’ll probably be doing that well into my twenties……and thirties.

Why?

Because becoming an adult doesn’t happen over night, or follow the “third time’s the charm” saying. And as I reach graduation, I have to be ok with failure. Because that’s the only way I’m going to progress. 

Who wants to be perfect, anyway?

Yes, it would make my mornings easier and grocery shopping more efficient but then I lose the fun and experiments and mess ups. 

I think I tell myself I have to be perfect or do certain things in order to feel like a successful adult. When in reality, that mindset only sets me farther back and takes me away from recognizing all that I’ve accomplished.

I know how to:

1. File taxes by myself
2. Take someone to small claims court
3. Meal prep for an entire week
4. Organize my planner down to the minute
5. Order a cup of coffee I’m happy with
6. Call my friends on the phone and hear about their days (because only adults talk on the phone now)

I take the bad with the good and the successes with the messes and I’ll be doing that for the rest of my life. Might as well come to terms with it now, right?

...for the Caged

As my head rests against my car window I realize I should look ahead, so I slowly drag my eye line upright to look forward at the miles of traffic that lie congested before me. I dredge along, unable to change lanes, or experience a speed faster than 20mph. I get tired of the traffic and look to my left, the Los Angeles skyline waking up between the hustle and bustle of its many residents and eager travelers trying to enter its gates. It’s Tuesday, and at 7:15 in the morning I want to be absolutely anywhere but here. Not just the monotony of LA traffic, but the doldrums of an all-too predictable fall semester.

I wanted out, and where did I find my solace?

Fresno.

Zac Brown Band rang through my static-filled stereo and awoke an idea that would fuel the rest of my two-hour car ride. I tossed my phone to my carpool buddy and gave him direct orders to look up their tour schedule.

I was in luck.

Zac Brown Band, playing on Friday, November 15th in California!

Where? 

Fresno.

A four-hour drive was all it took to take me out of my life and into a night I so desperately needed. So, what did I do? I brought in reinforcement of course.

“Sarah, want to drive to Fresno with me on Friday to see Zac Brown Band? I need to not be here.”

Send.

 “You’ve got it. I’ll book the hotel.”

Received.

I text her Tuesday, we buy the tickets Wednesday, seal the hotel room Thursday, and gas up and drive away on Friday. Only a best friend would agree to such spontaneously rash decisions and venture north toward California’s armpit.

We drive, and it gets dark, and after we have gone through the minimal selection of playlists on our iPhones, we arrive at our destination.

We check into our seedy hotel a few blocks from the venue and ask the receptionist how far away we are.

“It’s a 20 minute walk to the venue from here.”

“Ok, so, a five minute drive.” There is no way we are about to adventure along the streets of Fresno in the unknown darkness that fills this unknown city.

Beer and braut in hand, and an upgrade on our seats, Sarah and I were ready to relax and enjoy the concert. And by concert, I mean the full on ambiance of it all. The people watching in Fresno is absolutely prime. After the seats fill and Sarah and I get our fix of eye candy by observing the three sets of swingers just two rows ahead of us, the curtain dropped and Zac and his men arrived.

Two solid hours of perfectly-pitched, smooth-as-butter music and all we had to do was take it all in. 

Aside from the fact that all we really wanted was a getaway and ended up stumbling upon a concert listing by happenstance, it really was one of the best music experiences I have yet to go through.

Yes, your mood affects the way you take in the music, perceive the lyrics and feel the emotion in the band and audience members, but their passion and dedication to their fans across the nation is what makes Zac Brown Band stick out. The intentionally-constructed sets, lightly scattered with stories from home and the reasons behind the lyrics made me fall in love with them as humans. Not just musicians, but people who live and love all the same, and have the gift of articulating it all so beautifully; hand-crafting words for the masses to relate to and feel not so alone in such lonely times.

Chicken fried closed the show but Uncaged started the encore. Appropriate for Sarah and I, this was our night; our night to let go and forget about our to-do lists and real world obligations, to leave the cages we built around ourselves made of expectations and false desires and to fly away for the night.

Fresno was my solace on a Friday night, proving to me that it’s the reason behind a decision that makes the impact, just as much as it’s the people behind the lyrics that make the song. 

347 things that will change your life (or whatever)

Scrolling through Facebook and clicking my way around BuzzFeed the past few months, I've noticed a very similar pattern. Considering I'm a "lists" woman myself, I have become hyper-sensitive to all of the to-do's and checklists I have been advised to pursue in this very instant in my life. For example…

20 things every 20 something must do

30 things to do before you're 30

100 things every college student must know

50 reasons why studying abroad is life changing

10 reasons why being a young adult is hard

25 things every woman must know before she dates

(God forbid I wait to do any of this, or else I’ll surely fail at the current life stage I’m in)

Amongst these are, of course, the sillier ones indicating world’s best cat gifs and countdowns through the most famous 90’s kid memories.

And as much as I love reading this and being reminded of all the things I can be doing, or should have done, or already did, I find it really hard to want to follow those lists.

Why?

Because I don’t find it necessary to write down a list of things we already know.

Taking a road trip and counting your blessings, saying thank you when you’ve been complimented and studying for midterms until 3am come with the territory of simply living life.

None of these lists are revolutionary. No new idea has been presented, no answers to questions have been unearthed, it’s just a list of to-do’s to remind us of past conversations about future pursuits.

Thinking further into this, it got me pondering into why we love these articles so much. It helps that we feel reached out to and concentrated on, of course, but we are simple humans living in a not-so-simple world. And all of those lists serve as reminders to hone it all in to what we believe really matters.

Growing up in the church and immersing myself in leadership throughout high school and college, I’ve had countless opportunities to hear motivational speakers and leadership developers of the like encouraging me to stand up and make a difference. Be a call to action, reach out to a friend in need, lead by example. And I leave those seminars absolutely fired up and after a week passes, my “church camp high” has faded and I’m back to struggling through daily life.

We are in constant need of daily reminder.

We are always seeking out ways to improve on and remember the simple things we learned in our earlier years.

And no matter how we spin it, it’s always the same.

We need that daily bread to keep us going. Just as we nourish our bodies with food and our minds with wisdom, our hearts need the same attention.

So I challenge you this. Instead of seeking out 20 things to do before next year or 150 things to memorize for a perfect life, what if we all just sought out love?

Simple.

Love.

For with love you can do mighty things.

With love you can call your mom and catch up on the past few weeks, or months.

With love you can bake a batch of brownies for your friend buried in midterms.

With love you can feed the homeless, take quiet time for yourself, and view those around you in a way that says, “You are human, just like me. We fail, we rise, we fail again, but why not do it together?”

So what will you do this week?

Will you remind yourself of all that needs to be done, or will you give yourself a break and just complete one daily task? 

Love.

...for the Child

As the early morning light seeps its way through my blinds, I peel my eyes open and stretch my hands above my head, uncurling myself out of the cocoon I had been nestled so cozily in.

Hopping out of bed, I scuttle to the bathroom then slide my feet across the carpet to warm my toes up before making the long voyage downstairs along the twisted staircase.

Grabbing onto the banister, the wood feels cold against my hands; still warm from the night under my giant white duvet cover.

I tip toe across the hard wood floor and peek my head around the corner and into the kitchen. The rich smell of coffee leads me to my destination and the navy blue plaid bathrobe confirms my initial assumption. I look up and climb into my daddy's lap as he kisses my head and slides over my designated Saturday morning reading material: the funnies.

At 8 years old, this was my weekend routine.

Wake up and read with my dad, just us two partners in crime before the rest of the house awoke.

He would fix me a cup of warm milk and honey-always served in his ceramic mug with the whale tail as a handle-and we would start our day as this; the father and his child.

12 years later and on the rare occasions my dad and I share our mornings together, we still read the morning paper. But instead of the funnies we read the front page and community sections and my milk has been replaced with a styrofoam cup filled with coffee. Black.  

12 years later, I am still his daughter and he is still my dad. That doesn't change no matter what age we reach, yet the duties alter as our age increases.

He can still set up a tent and make a mean breakfast sandwich and continues to teach me how to fix my car. He knows how to diagnose my sister's illness across the globe and can steer me home after getting myself lost, all with a simple phone call.

I was reminded last night, however, that sometimes daddy-daughter days are better to reminisce about than to look forward to. 

See, as a child I, along with many other little girls, thought my dad knew every answer to any question I asked him. 

Why? Because he's my dad.

And that's the only reason I ever had to know. 

That simple word, "dad", that could solve math equations and dry tears, the word that could build a fire and tuck me in super tight was the answer to any question I would ever have to ask.

As the world would have it, however, children age and start to learn. We learn about the world around us and our desired paths in life and we realize that our parents may not know the answer to every little thing. 

Does this change the fact that he is my dad and I am his daughter? Of course not.

It does, however, help illustrate the fact that let downs occur and circumstances change and no matter what happens on earth, there is always a Father who knows every answer to any question I ask. 

I will always be a child. 

I will always have a father.

And I will always have a Father.

When circumstances are out of my control and words are misplaced and used to hurt rather than heal, questions arise that seemingly no one will have the answer to.

When placed in these situations, I have no other choice than to turn to the one Father who never fails to provide answers in a time of such scarcity. Scarcity of knowledge, scarcity of power, scarcity of tangible solutions.

We are all children, so deeply and passionately loved on that it wouldn't make sense not to embrace all that we are intended to have. 

The most beautiful duo in all of history is the father and his daughter and I am blessed to have both a father and a Father who deeply love on me.

I can only hope and pray that I continue to constantly reach out beyond my knowledge. When I can't seem to find the answer among the bear hugs and table talks, I can only pray that I remain a child to a Father who is here to be asked questions that only He can answer.

...for the Frightened

Lying in bed at 12:47 last night, everything was still. My breathing, I can assume, was slow and consistent and the air outside was thick, filled with humidity that made even the crickets slow their bluegrass tunes to a lullaby pace. I was tangled up in my sheets, kept warm by my body temperature and the thin layer of fabric that bunched unevenly around my waist.

At 12:47 in the morning, I was suddenly jolted to consciousness. My breathing was jarred and my heart rate increased, a mixture of fear and shock. The sheets that kept me so warm just seconds ago felt distant and useless, my inner being now ice cold, craving for something to cling onto and hide underneath. A loud, distinct crack sliced through the night air and echoed just once, repeating the sound that now rang throughout my entire body. 

To the right of my quaint, suburban neighborhood is a bustling freeway, fenced off by braided wiring and separated from the sleepy doldrums by a bike path and a thick wall of trees. The sound of a gunshot, however, cut through the trees like a machete and landed in earshot of my tiny town home.

I waited for what seemed like minutes for the familiarity of police sirens, the comfort of help along the way to replace the uncertainty. I repeated a prayer and repeated again, trying to conjure up a response. An answer. A saving grace to the gaping time that stretched, holding with it the uncertainty of who was out there and what I could not see.

The minutes passed, and that was that. No one came. No sirens rang out. The rustling of my sister next door was the only response to the wake up call, and as I sat there, frozen, afraid that my movement would provoke another unwelcome sound, I pictured Alana was mirroring my same stature; eyes glued to the window, arms perched on our pillows with the slightest crevice in the blinds to peek through-our perch above the fort, the almighty protectors of our make-shift worlds. 

She stopped rustling, drifted back into a silent slumber, and life moved on. All but the hum of electricity had ceased to conjure up a noise. I wanted to assume everyone in their own cozy homes was mimicking my actions, acting as guardians of whatever the rest of the night held. Sadly, this was probably all make believe. Timers were set and whatever the real world held in its grips meant nothing to the suburban, cookie cutter perfection that we relied upon.

The sprinklers turned off and houses remained heated; timers counting down the seconds until the next rotation occurred. 

My fear in that moment, although initially provoked by the gunshot, was extended through the night by the fear of the unknown. It is all too simple and safe to assume that as a Woodbridge Village Association resident, danger cannot seep through our perimeter. That as one of the safest cities in our nation, havoc and mayhem wouldn’t dare cross our borders, afraid of what our “pleasantville-esque” society threatens to use against all evil.

The truth of the matter is, in that moment I had never experienced so much fear and so much doubt. I played worst-case scenarios in my head, envisioned all escape routes and the speed at which I would cram Alana and my mom in the closet to protect our family and defeat the monster that broke down our door. 

Fabricated and child-like, the scenarios never came into play and I talked myself down, reminded that we are once again, safe and sound. 

I woke up the next morning, groggy from a few stiff hours of forced sleep, but once again, safe and sound.

I was fearful, yes. But I am blessed beyond measure. I’m blessed that my fears were only worst-case and that this once in a blue moon occurrence would probably never happen again. 

Fear comes most commonly in my life when paired with the unknown. 

Fear is different for everyone, but it is always, always real. 

Fear is a feeling most people don’t choose to experience, unless right before an adrenaline rush, an exciting adventure approaching closer with each step. 

You may laugh at my fear, may scoff at the state my mind regressed to, but I know I was afraid. And blessed. And another experience wiser after 12:47 that morning.

Because at 12:47 this morning, I realized that fear stops for no one, and comes uninvited to dinner parties, sleepy silences, and next big life steps.

I welcome the fear, however, because with fear comes one more situation to conquer and learn from. 

I hope you welcome your fear, and I hope you know that your fears are your own, never too small or too large, as the mind creates what it will, a sea diving far beyond the measures of our wildest dreams.

...for the 'Human'itarian

I hate humans.

Did you catch that? 
I said I hate humans.

Before you jump to conclusions, follow me for a second.
Humanity, as a whole, is a pretty ugly thing. 
It is a self-destructive, wasteful creature that has allowed society to program us to look at our lives in such jaded ways that pick out everything we don't have.
We dwell on the past.
Live in the future.
And complain about never having enough time to just BE.

We are never fully present and in those rare chances we are, we are focusing on those around us. Rarely jumping at the chance to admire ourselves. 

And as much confidence I have in individuals and our will to better our community- and the confidence I have that we will always prevail- and that our true callings will come out once we separate the world's desires from God's desires, what I've seen the past few days has really hurt my heart.

My community has become an episode right out of a teen drama, with anonymous websites to share your darkest secrets, an outlet to rate and assess the "dateable" guys in our area and stereotypes being thrown around during class.

I discovered an application called LuLu, a site that pegs your location and shows you guys in your community that have been rated.
Sex: 8.0
Attractiveness: 7.3
First kiss: 10.0
Commitment: 5.0
And the list goes on and on. And for what purpose? To degrade men in the same way us women fear? 

I had resorted to this narrow mindset that left me with an unappreciated loss of hope in humanity. 

But to that, I have to say that it's my faith in the individual that will conquer the doubt.

The power of an individual seeing their potential and affirming the self worth of others creates a beautiful movement. It creates a force that pushes through the negativity in the masses and encourages others to see what the power of positivity can really accomplish.

So yes, humanity sucks.
But the individual?
The community?
That, my friends, will always win. 

So what will you do? Stick to the masses or branch out and live a life that depicts a true meaning of community. 

...for the Lovers

I met someone Saturday evening.
A little boy, hardly a week old, who happens to take the role of my very little and very new, baby brother.
Before I met Erik, I simply knew him as an idea. As this person I knew had come to exist and be placed in my life but other than that it wasn't quite possible for me to fully grasp the concept of a brother.
See, before I met Erik, I didn't know it was possible to love someone so unconditionally without even a clue as to who they were.

Other than the fact that we are, in a way, related, I knew nothing about this little man. I hadn't shared a conversation with him nor traveled through the depths of his soul and passions, likes and dislikes, but simply just knew him as a boy who was new to my life.

As I held Erik, I looked at him and all the new discovery that was going on through his eyes and I realized that this love I felt, this uncontainable, indescribable love, was one that has been given to me daily and one I have been failing to give.

I looked at him and realized that the life I have been living is unmatched to the one I have been called to live. The love I've been given by the big man upstairs has been given to me not only so I can see the beauty of my creation and the self-worth I really do hold, but so that others can see theirs as well.

Why can't we all love so deeply, so unconditionally, so uncontainably that it fills us with a spirit and a joy that can't help but be contagious?

Often times I find myself questioning my actions.
Conversations I have and decisions I make, with the fear that others might find them too forward or unconventional. 
Why should I be afraid to speak my mind and affirm those around me for the sole purpose of allowing them to see how wonderful they are?
Why?
Because we've been told it's wrong. It's unconventional. It's weird to make spontaneous friends or go up to someone you don't know.
Society has placed on me a barrier as to how and when I should show my love. And the only culprit in this victimization of my own actions, is myself.

I dictate the decisions I make and the people I affect and through it all, I got lost and wrapped up in the idea that showing love isn't normal. 

Where in your life are you placing barriers on the love you choose to show and receive? Where are you second guessing your potential and the ability you have to greatly influence the lives of those around you?

Love does. In the words of Bob Goff, when all else fails and nothing seems to make sense, the only thing that holds true is love. Because love does. Love has no limits or understanding of failure. Love holds no boundaries or time frames to act upon. Love makes sense because sometimes life is too complicated to try and understand anything other than the simplicity of that four letter word. 

I challenge you to love.
Love yourself.
Love others.
And do so in a way that makes others stop and respond. 
Love in a way that calls attention to the life you're living and the influence you hold on those around you.
Love as if there's no tomorrow.
Love. Because love does. 

...for the Dweller (here's why you shouldn't)

There was this one morning.

It was maybe 4:30 at this point and I had spent the past six hours in a car full of people I barely knew.
We jumped on in, filled the car up with gas and drove down the coast on a spontaneous whim in hopes of finding something.
In hopes of finding an adventure, or maybe finding an escape for the night.

We all lay sprawled out on an abandoned lifeguard tower down south along the shores of a small beach town and the air smelled of sea salt, stale perfume and energy drinks. The conversations hit a lull as we gazed above us and stared into the unknown, so at peace with the path the night had given us.

I looked to my left and to my right and realized I would never see most of these people ever again and with that, I was filled with this overwhelming happiness.

Because although we shared dark secrets and tried to piece together what life meant at that moment, it was perfectly acceptable that we would never speak again. We shared memories spanning across those random hours in the night that are typically filled with sleep or normal routine and it meant that we had a new outlook on life, if only for that moment or possibly just for those few hours we spent alone after we parted ways.

Thinking back to that night I realize the past few days were filled with those same exact moments- pockets of joy that I may experience if only once with people I just met.
It's those moments that make up the list of a few of my very most favorite things, those things that give me the inspiration I need:

The boys who serenaded my sorority, I thank you for entertaining the idea that men are sensitive because they have good voices.
Thank you for giving me hope, even if it's encased in a hopeless romantic mindset.

The small crowd of people who cheered for me as I shouted out my number crossing the finish line as the 8th to last paddler in this weekend's race.
Thank you for reminding me that crossing the finish line is an accomplishment, no matter what place you're in.

The woman who called me lovely and the boy in the banana suit.
Thank you for showing me genuine sincerity and light hearted moments can be shared with absolutely anyone who is willing to accept them.

As a planner and a dweller and an all-around Type A, it's the moments like these that slow my world down a bit.

Where in your life can you look at a day and realize that those times of joy- those smiles in between class with someone who catches your eye or that random hail storm that sets in as you walk across campus- those moments are intended to slow your day down?

Think of things as they were, not as they weren't.

It's times like these where all you can do is appreciate what just happened and take it as it is, because somehow you became a better person through it all and the only way to explain it is by remembering it just as it was. 

...for the Studious Students

Finals.
A time of awful eating and sleeping habits, a season where jeans are always optional and sweats are welcomed by everyone. A time where students learn how to survive on caffeine and disregard social interactions outside of academic buildings. 
Finals.
A time of stress, but also, a time of joy?

Aside from the stress finals may bring you as you rely on seasonal Pinterest and Tumblr pages to distract you from your priorities, thus creating more anxiety later on, finals week can also bring about a time of appreciation and joy. Hidden deep down in your backpack next to the chargers and free red bull, there is a little ziploc holding a handful of joy to carry you through these weeks.

Finals suck and there is no denying this, yet it's all too easy to let it consume you in every way possible. 
As I study for my last final, I repeat one simple, yet very powerful phrase. 
"It's always going to be ok."

No matter what, it will always be ok.

Whether it be a relationship that recently ended or a towing ticket that sets you back $300, even a final you may have bombed or the amount you've let yourself go during finals week, no matter what, in time it will always be ok.

The scars of the break up will heal and you'll date you for a while and appreciate the love you give your deserving self.
You will work back the money you lost or receive a check in the mail from someone who deeply just wants to support you, despite their own financial situation.
You will pass the class, either barely hanging on or with flying colors, and go on living the normalcy of whatever your life was before these two weeks approached.

In the end, the stress we put on ourselves to achieve some high level of greatness will not ever compare to the joy we can allow ourselves to experience.

I may be one of the biggest stress cases I know, yet allowing myself to remain joyful in this stressful yet very prominent holiday season is something we all deserve.
Be joyful, knowing that you are worth so much more than grades on a test.
Be joyful, knowing that you are made for so much more than we allow ourselves to live at times.
Be joyful, knowing that it will always be ok.

We have gone through some awful times in our lives, and for that I am both sorry and grateful. I'm sorry for the pain we have had to endure and the uneasiness we had to sit in. Yet I am grateful for the support found during those times and the season after the storm, the healing process and the growth. It might just be me, but finding joy in my own sorrow can be one of the best forms of healing I practice. 

So as finals wind down and the holiday season kicks into full swing, remember that this is simply another week on your calendar, a moment in time that will pass and leave way for another joyous time to appear.
Remember that amidst the stress you can allow yourself a moment of joy.
Smile.
Laugh.
Be grateful that you have something to be stressed about.
Remember that no matter what you feel now, it will always be ok. 

...for the Thirsty (literally)

So, there's this boy.
Brown shaggy hair, super trendy shades.
And well, we've just started seeing each other.
We even have a spot.
Everyday. Same time.
It all happened so fast really, but he just ran into my life.

Literally.

Well, more of a speed walk.


I was making my typical Tuesday/Thursday trek to the drinking fountains in between classes early this week when this boy walks out of the restroom and into my path, causing me to step aside to let him through. Th gentleman he is, he stepped aside once more, implying I had the right of way. I took the two steps to the shorter water fountain and as I twisted off my water bottle cap, I noticed him waiting. I looked at him and motioned to the higher of the two fountains and told him there was one available (if he somehow couldn't see past me).

"No. I'll wait."

Oh. 

Which has now shifted the entire scenario to one where I'm suddenly this awful burden. 
Everyone has been there. You're that one kid who decides to fill up their water bottle so a line starts to form behind you but you can't do anything since the water is moving at a glacial speed. Thus, you're stuck. And everyone hates you for it even though they've all been there. Yet it's just like driving; you hate the pedestrians until you are one.

Anyways, I drop my binders to the ground and double strap my backpack on so the entire process can move just a little faster. I filled up as quickly as the fountain would allow and walked away a bit confused. I brushed it off and went on with my day.

Today rolls around and I walk to my spot for a refreshing sip of water and who do I see? 
The boy.
Coming from two sides of the hall we meet at the entrance to the doorway for the fountains and what does he do?
He looks at me and without even muttering a word, extends his right hand out in a sassy maitre d sort of way as to say "again? go ahead."

I step forward and, the selfless woman I am, take the higher fountain this time, assuming he wouldn't use it the last time for some height-conscious reason. 
Yet he stood there. And waited. 
I looked his way once again, pointing to the open fountain (because at this point it's clear he can't see what's in front of him) and he rolled his eyes and looked down.
HE LOOKED DOWN. 
Like suggesting he use the fountain was the most idiotic thing anyone has ever done.
I have to say, I'm a little offended. 
What's the point of two fountains when no one insists on using them at the same time? 
The only situation that logically works anymore is a parent with their tiny child, totting around behind them. 
Or best friends. 
Because they do everything together.

I wonder if I will meet this boy in our spot again next week.
I sure do hope so because I am really eager to find out why he insists on sipping alone. 
Nonetheless, I analyzed this a bit further during the analyzing of films in my aesthetics class and felt a pang of sadness.

Are we as a generation so afraid of community that we insist on walking life alone, never allowing ourselves to interact in the slightest way with someone new?

I'll continue to ponder on this while my life plays out like an episode from Seinfeld. 

So, what will you do the next time you reach a water fountain?
Will you step aside and wait as the person before you hurriedly sips away, or will you step forward and leisurely gulp down your water, as the potential to make a new friend rests right beside you. 

...for the Faithful

I give my body one sick day a year. 
That's all it deserves, really.
I have too many things to do to let my body slack off and slump around in a bathrobe while priorities rack up.

Unfortunately, my body had something else in mind. I'm coming off of a four-day cold and to the average joe this may seem short-lived, but for myself -who finds sickness a foreign concept- this bug has overstayed it's welcome.

In fact, I've had a lot of bugs overstay their welcome.
First, cockroaches.
Then, a colony of ants in my kitchen.
Now, the bug that every student at Chapman seems to cough all over everyone else.

I've had more problems in the past month and a half than I ever would have imagined accumulating. In the short timespan of moving out of my cozy home in Irvine and jumping straight into life as a Chapman student, I have lived in two apartments, dealt with physical threats, a towed car, the ending of my jobs,and struggled to make my first payment of rent, all topped off by an obnoxious cough, landing me the title of "That Girl" in the library everyone hates.

Yet I find myself waking up in the mornings reflecting on the positive aspects of this conundrum. 

I've discovered my credit is amazingly high, enjoyed researching for an investigative piece on exploitations in the apartment business, learned how to defend my renter's rights and take a corporation to small claims court, write my own checks, and have consumed a vast amount of soup. And at the end of the day, I'm still alive and counting my blessings.

I can honestly say I had never fully understood the phrase "Praise Him in the Storm" until this season in my life. Because yes, although I wake up in the mornings, drive to school, and find myself crying aloud wondering how I am going to make ends meet or how I even ended up in this situation, I end each upset tear with a joyful one, finding I can still rely on Him through it all. I surprise myself by how much faith I truly do have. And as awful as that may sound, I think there are many of us that can look at our lives and see how every decision we make is laced with doubt and fear that the One we turn to may not provide.

Where in your life are you faced with a battle that leaves you feeling defeated daily?

I'm not perfect, but I'm making strides towards becoming someone filled more and more with a daily joy. 
Yes, I am jobless.
Yes, I bite my nails raw worrying about finances.
And yes, I still despise the neighbor who towed my car.
But at the end of the day I see how blessed I am to be experiencing such trials that I have absolutely no control over.
At the end of my rope, His starts, and it makes sleeping at night just a little bit easier knowing that I can put my faith in Him and give my restless mind a few hours off.

Will you keep pulling on a rope that gives no slack or will you let go and trust in the One who is here to win the tug of war for you?